


For the Love of the Bard

by lettalady



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, References to Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 09:53:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2647592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettalady/pseuds/lettalady





	For the Love of the Bard

Imagine still grinning like a schoolgirl the day after seeing Tom Hiddleston act in his latest venue. You couldn’t convince any of your friends to attend the play with you, but they would have become bored even before intermission anyway. You had surprised yourself on the fact that you remembered more of the dialogue than you had anticipated, mouthing along with the actors discreetly. It seems you retained more of your grad school studies than you anticipated. Unashamedly you’ve brought your well worn copy of Shakespeare’s tragedies out with you to your favorite little pub and are now sitting nestled into the corner sipping on a tumbler of light amber liquid. Occasionally some poor soul will attempt to distract you from the book pages but you’ve managed to wave each of them off with a sharp retort stolen from the very pages at your fingertips. 

"What do you read?" A rich voice breaks your concentration. You know that line. You’d flip to the correct page but your mind calls the scene from Hamlet forth with little effort. 

You reply with Hamlet’s retort without looking up. “Words, words, words.” 

The laugh you hear in response makes your heart flip but you know you just have Tom Hiddleston on your mind because of the play and your subsequent immersion into Shakespeare. You are sat, still in motion, waiting for your imagination to swing into full gear and give you further palpitations. 

In your silence the voice speaks again, “Nothing will come of nothing: speak again.” 

Your brain makes the leap along with his - a line for your consideration from King Lear. You risk looking up to see none other than Tom standing before you. Thankfully he is looking down at the book you’ve now got in a death grip so he doesn’t see the incredulous look you’re giving him. You manage to close your open jaw before he removes his eyes from the pages. 

You move to close the book and pull it into your lap and he shakes his head. “Please, don’t shun the bard on my account.” 

Right. Like anyone would forego the chance of talking with Tom for a moment over rereading the enduring words of Shakespeare. You laugh, and then peek beyond his muscular form to try to spy Luke, who you assume will wrangle this gorgeous man away from you in the blink of an eye. “I - erm.” You grimace at your inability to articulate yourself. You sigh and smile up at him, “I’m not. I mean, his words will always be in here,” you tap the book in your lap, “And I studied him enough for so long that I dreamed in iambic pentameter for months after graduating.” You flip open your bag to shove the book inside and your playbill to the previous night’s event juts out. Since he appears engaged and unwilling to break off the conversation you motion to the other seat at your table. 

Tom has now settled down into the booth seat opposite you and nods in the direction of your bag, questioning, “Which night did you attend?” 

You sip at your tumbler glass to steady your heartbeat. Watching him act upon the stage (at a safe, untouchable distance) is one thing but having him seated across the table from you makes it entirely too tempting to fangirl out on the man. “Last night. A Christmas treat for myself. I found myself remembering more scenes than I thought I would. I failed at not mouthing along some of the lines… Hopefully nobody noticed but those poor few seated beside me.” You laugh at yourself for admitting that to him. 

His eyebrows arch up as he sits forward in his seat, laughing. “It happens quite frequently, among other things people try to mouth at you while you’re delivering your lines.” He wriggles his eyebrows as he finishes the sentence which elicits a blush from you. He pauses when the bartender brings him his drink and refills your nearly empty glass. 

Once again you find yourself wondering why Tom is seemingly here all alone. Where is Luke, his agent? Or perhaps some of his castmates? 

The look he gives you over his glass gives you goosebumps but you determinedly hold his gaze. “You were off to stage right, I think? Mid level?” Ah so you weren’t as discreet as you’d hoped. 

Even if he had said you were sitting on the moon you’d probably be nodding just as you are now. You laugh and put your hand to your head, “Next you’ll tell me you saw all your stagehands home last night. This is why we swoon over you so badly, you know.” You had intended on at least muttering the last sentence, or perhaps withholding it entirely; too late to take it back now. 

"We." He smiles and dips his chin. "Nothing so gallant as that I’m afraid. The rain and near freezing temperatures ended the signing session before I’d gotten too far through the queue." He looks stricken at the thought of disappointing his fans and lifts his glass again to drink from it. 

Wanting to reassure him and remove that saddened expression you reach out to lightly touch his free hand, a move you’d never consider with any other stranger that you might have met under similar circumstances - but he’s oozing so much natural charisma it is utterly impossible for you to resist touching him. “I’m sure you stayed far longer than you should have given your schedule and the weather.” 

You’re glad to have finished the thought before your fingertips made contact with his skin as your brain suddenly shouts at you the realization that you’re actually touching Tom Hiddleston! You are briefly at war with yourself over whether or not you’ll ever wash your hand again before reminding yourself firmly that you are an adult and such actions are simply not practical. 

Tom has watched your internal conflict with amusement and in your distraction you realize he has flipped his hand so that his palm is facing yours and his fingers are gently resting against your wrist. Belatedly you recognize that means he can feel the conga line that is currently your pulse. He relinquishes you your hand though he seems to do so with hesitation which just makes your heart do another few flips. He’s flirting for the fun of it now, to see how you’ll react. 

Tom’s phone alerts him to a text and he shakes his head, apologizing before quickly checking the screen. He chuckles before he explains. “My agent is going to meet me here for a little holiday cheer and to celebrate the show’s success. He is worried I’ll stop on the street for autographs and won’t make it here in time.” He winks at you, “But look at what’s in front of me, a beautiful fellow lover of the bard? Why would I want to be anywhere else?”


End file.
